


they won't even know your name

by quixxotique (crownlessliestheking)



Series: i hope you find your peace [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Bro, Android Lil Hal, Angst, Bro Strider's Stellar Parenting and the Emotional Aftermath of It, Cuddling, DS has a bit of a meltdown, DS is still half-bird, Fluff, Gen, Hal is a touch manipulative but genuinely contrite about it, Hurt and comfort, Identity Crises, Post-Game AU: Sprites Returned, mild panic attack, references to past abuse, stream of consciousness writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-14 22:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14146200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessliestheking/pseuds/quixxotique
Summary: Hal and DS talk things out.





	they won't even know your name

**Author's Note:**

> Joint gift for Glade (as promised from ages ago) and sgt-spank (because you've had to deal with a whole lot of dumb bullshit lately so have something at least vaguely happy).

It’s a known fact that lying around your house thinking is not exactly the best thing for you to do. Or, you know that, which is why you tend to distract yourself when you find yourself laying around and doing just that. You don’t really update SBaHJ that much, not because Dave’s reclaimed it, but because you kind of have all the spoilers now thanks to Hal sending you the digital files for the entirety of the media produced for it.

(The first moive was playing backwards when you started it and then a compilation of every Spongebob episode ever all at once when you tried it again, then the second deposited negative five boonbucks into your bank account, the third spat a handful of janky pixels right out of your laptop screen. The e-book was a nightmare in and of itself, with the words rearranging themselves into dongs every so often, though Hal says that if you stare at it long enough you’ll see warnings against the Batterwitch flashing at a rate of 120 fps. You’re not trying too hard to find those, but it’s enough to bring an actual fucking tear to your eye).

Okay, you don’t even have that many hobbies in general, but you do manage a couple of sweet games of Mad Snaxx if you do say so yourself. Today is- not the kind of day for that, apparently, because here you are thinking. Not about the Game or anything, thankfully; you faithfully avoid so much as mentally eyeing the first sixteen years of your life. Or, not about the Game in relation to you- thinking about stuff like the troll’s session, and weird shenans that might have gone down on Derse are entertaining enough. Sometimes you wonder what it is Hal’s aspect would be. Logic dictates that it’s probably the same as Dirk’s just like yours is the same as Dave’s, but you’d already been a Time player. You were Dave, even you’re not anymore, just like he’s Dirk, even if he’s not anymore. But from the way they tell it- and boy did it take you a good long while to figure out that part of the story. Not that Dirk and Hal had particularly conflicting opinions of the facts of what went down, they both pretty much said that Hal’d pretty clearly diverged even if Dirk kept on calling him a splinter. Which is also another thing that isn’t technically wrong, since you’re pretty sure that Dirk is the real Dirk and Hal is Hal, just like Dave’s the real Dave, and you’re just you.

But, well. Hal’s happy to have ended up different, is the thing. He doesn’t want to be Dirk, and Dirk sure as hell doesn’t want Hal to be him, either.

(This used to completely infuriate you, back when you were still stuck on Dirk being Bro and therefore being terrible. You’ve since realized that he’s terrible in a different way; he doesn’t have the same kind of sadistic malice that you’d sometimes feel from Bro, if you felt anything at all. He definitely doesn’t look at you with that kind of disdain practically bleeding from every inch of his body. Dirk’s shittiness, as Dirk himself would say, is because he’s got no fucking clue how normal human interactions work and his attempts to try and figure it out are just- bad. You can appreciate the attempts, clumsy as they are sometimes, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that he’s just patronizing you, pitying the poor little bird copy of his Bro. Not that the real Dave is actually his Bro any more than he’s yours, but still.)

God, this sort of shit just makes your head hurt.

But Hal’s still your favorite. He gets what it’s like.

\----tiberiusTesticles [TT] started pestering tautomericGraft [TG]----

TT: Okay, broski, sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled slot of doing absolutely fucking nothing, but I have to posit a question.

You squint at the screen, and then at the name. Speak of the fucking devil, apparently, but more than that, this is definitely the weirdest handle Hal’s come up with yet. He’s been cycling through them and apparently trying to find one that fits, but you’re sure he just changes it to something godfuck ridiculous just to mess with you.  
You also may have contributed to the selection pool yourself, but that’s not too important. He only picks those to humor you, you’re pretty sure.

TG: alright what is it, lay this shit on me like too much butter on a crumpet   
TT: God, get your faux-British bullshit out of my face, nobody even knows what a crumpet is. 

You’re pretty sure it’s the result of some weird fucking between a croissant and- okay, not a trumpet, because it’s edible, but one of those weird flat bread things that pretend to be muffins. They’re not muffins. You know what muffins look like, and you have even been trying to make a few under Jane’s direction, so you definitely know that an English muffin is not an actual muffin and is just some dumbass bread trying to make itself fancier by appealing to Anglophile kids who dream of going in and breaking up the various royal weddings.

(These are something that you missed, according to Hal, but you’re not too sure if it would’ve played out in your timeline. You’re pretty sure that you’d have enjoyed making fun of it, though. You almost definitely would have gone around in this ridiculous and terrible British accent and sounded a lot like a worse-rated version of English. As in Jake, not Lord. Jade probably wouldn’t have appreciated you sounding like her dead grandpa, though, but it’s not like Jade appreciates a lot about you the way things stand. Stood. You’ve been avoiding her, too, and you really don’t want to think about it.)

You type up your response in a hurry, shake all that bullshit off because you’re not only the world champion at emotional repression (yeah you’re definitely beating Dirk to that title what with his attempts at self-improvement, from Hal says), but also because you know Hal is probably counting down the seconds between your response times and might end up sending a barrage of messages or just straight up showing up at your door if you zone out for too long.

And you gotta say, you’re not too sure whether or not you’re up for an in-person kind of visit today.

TG: you know what it is you could literally look it up right now and tell me   
TG: and also you should get really into that pedantic bullshit and explain why an english muffin is a muffin   
TG: you know you want to break out that thesaurus  
TG: raw the internet reddit forums with your knowledge   
TG: and great philosophical skills applying to this  
TG: rile the breakfast fandom up to the point of no return   
TT: The implication that I want to know what a crumpet is, though? That is both grossly incorrect and highly insulting.   
TT: And the breakfast fandom has already fallen to the great evil of Waffle House, as we both well know. 

You’ve never had anything against Waffle House, it’s practically a fucking institution and you remember being distinctly goddamn offended when Rose said they weren’t any up north by her. That’s what the kids call a fuckin’ travesty, right there. Now, breakfast food in general makes you kind of queasy, with the whole egg thing. And also your dumbass birdbrain is still trying to get you to smash your face repeatedly into a bunch of dry cereal scattered across any remotely flat surface, but that’s something to work on.

TG: ok  
TG: well  
TG: what exactly is a crumpet so as i don’t accidentally offend your royal roboness with my lack of knowledge of   
TT: A yeasty pancake.   
TG: what  
TG: that’s a really fuckin uncomfortable statement my dude  
TG: the only thing worse is a moist yeasty pancake   
TT: That’s a summary of the results. They don’t seem particularly appetizing, which is why shit’s mad broffensive.   
TT: And while I could easily compile a list of far worse adjectives to be used, in the interest of not making us both gag on the strange human aversion to certain verbal cues, I’ll refrain from doing that.   
TT: But, back to the original topic, which is my question.   
TG: yeah let’s not dwell too much on my crumpety ignorance  
TG: gotta cover that shit up like a nasty zit on prom night, lather on the concealer and make sure that highlights popping  
TT: My highlights are always popping, thanks to subcutaneous circuitry. Do you think it looks nice, Nintenbro?   
TG: instagram make-up girls hate you for that flawless look  
TT: I’m the envy of all those meaty bastards, but if we’re speaking about highlights, those gold-dust freckles of yours count.   
TG: now you’re just flattering me  
TG: dirk didn’t build you with that kind of bling  
TT: Woe is me, really. He’s a cheap bastard when it comes to cosmetics. Are you certain you won’t let me borrow them? Only for the weekend, dearest, and they’ll be entirely intact when I return them to you. In pristine condition, even.   
TG: you say that now honeybun but can i really trust you with these prized possessions  
TG: how am i gonna know whether or not youre gonna bring them back to me huh  
TG: you might just fuck right off into the nightmare jungle with all the consorts and set yourself up as their new freckled god with that glow  
TG: and then you go mad with power and stage an invasion  
TG: but of course ill have to go stop you before that happens, undertake some lotr level quest to get my freckles back  
TG: except with no elves i guess  
TG: i could get a salamancer to be a dwarf if i had to but i dont want to have to they kind of annoy me  
TT: I could play an excellent Sauron, now that you mention it.   
TG: and that king dude was named strider at one point too so its looking like were all set  
TT: However, given that this whole plan to thwart me hinges in your getting out of bed and out of your house, I think that the world is just about doomed. 

Ouch.  
TG: presumably id drag all eight feet of my ass outside if it meant saving the world  
TT: Your disregard and terror of the concept of heroism speaks otherwise.   
TG: terror  
TG: the fuck is there to be terrified about being a hero  
TG: id be terrified if you turned into a big red eye stuck on top an ugly-ass spiky tower dude but that is im pretty sure a normal reaction   
TT: Oh, no.   
TT: I would be Sauron in the First or Second Age, I should think. Hot and possessed of a rockin’ bod, as opposed to the shattered remnants of a disembodied spirit clinging to life only by the fragment he’d invested into a mere ring.   
TG: ok well horcruxes aside   
TG: and im definitely not gonna think too hard about how horcruxes could definitely be a thing  
TT: Given Dirk’s abilities and the contents of your version of Cal, they actually are. 

You’re empathizing a lot more with Harry Potter and Rose’s various rewrites of shitty wizard fanfiction that all ended in tragedy, than you would like to be. You and Hal have spoken about the whole Cal situation, and you know that Dirk and the real Dave have managed to talk it through, but you just don’t really want to think too hard about it. Like a bunch of other shit. For you it boils down to this: the puppet freaked you the fuck out, you were 100% right that it was evil and awful, and you’re never really gonna know just how much of your whole shitty situation was Bro and how much of it was Cal and you kind of think you can live with that.

Dave can’t, apparently, but he’s expressing himself or working through it or whatever. It sounds like a bad time- and one you’d give your non-existent left nut to avoid.

TG: can we like  
TG: not get to that  
TG: i meant cmon man im just tryna have a good conversation here and now youve got me looking over my shoulder to find the damn puppet  
TG: i know the little bastard aint here but that doesnt mean i cant inspect every goddamn nook and cranny in here to make sure of it  
TT: Right. A change of subject is in order, then.   
TG: no shit sherlock those are some fine detective skills youre employing there how have you not replaced the whole police force or whatever

You want to wince, because ouch, that’s maybe a bit harsh and you still think that Hal is going to decide he’s had enough of your birdy insecure bullshit one day and just go, but you’re also still checking for Cal. Logically you know- you fucking know- it’s not there, and it’s impossible for it to be there. And yet, here you are.

It’s not until five minutes later when you’ve scanned the room over and over and settled back in your nest pile of nicely arranged blankets and soft things on top of your bed, that you check your messages again.

TT: Anyway. My question, which is now of the utmost importance. I yearn to have it answered, bro, this thirst for knowledge is stronger than anything I have ever felt before in the entirety of my artificial life.   
TG: aight my dude hit me lets go  
TT: Have you ever wanted to force Fanta down someone’s throat until they drown on the true sugary goodness of heaven?   
TG: uh ok so let me see  
TG: if i had to choose between fanta and death  
TG: id start digging my grave  
TG: so no   
TT: I think the fact that you would willingly fling yourself into a coffin at any given moment diminishes the effect of that statement.   
TT: Shall I pour one out for you, into the cold wood as you’re lowered into the ground?   
TT: It’s likely to seep through the wood and drip into the mouth of your rotting corpse.   
TG: hal what the fuck  
TG: ok i dont even know where to start with that  
TG: first is that im p sure that i cant actually die as some fucked up post-sburb reward like i didnt godtier but i didnt go human just got set right back to after my prototyping  
TG: thanks for letting me use your body and turn you into a bird and shit so now youre gonna live eternally in the new universe even though you didnt do jack shit to get there  
TG: i guess at least i got that wing back   
TG: honestly id have been fine sticking with the catgirl she had some weird fuckin moves man  
TG: scared the shit outta the dumbass bird in my head  
TG: so i guess id be alive when the fanta started dripping and being sticky and wet in the dark has like no appeal dude what if mold and shit started to grow on me do you know how fuckin gross that would be  
TT: Adequately disgusting, I’m certain.   
TT: Though I find it difficult to believe that anything organic, in either origin or current function, would not want to get all wet and sticky in the dark.   
TT: Wink.   
TT: Or, in the eternal words of RoLal: Wonk.   
TG: bro cmon lets not go there i was literally talking about mold right after its not some weird sex thing  
TT: Au contraire, mon frère.   
TT: That was a fine innuenbro on your part.   
TG: ughhhh  
TT: But, back to the question at hand once more, as I must play the unwilling gondolier to this vessel of a conversation that appears to have a knack for getting caught on some truly tangential currents.   
TG: yeah man   
TG: honestly its kinda worrying if youre thinking about straight up killing a bitch with fanta like damn dude  
TG: just looking at that toxic neon bullshit is enough to make someones eyes burn clean out of their skull holes   
TG: but i guess now that we’ve gone and forged on to the territory that is en ess eff double you.   
TT: Why would you spell it out like that?   
TG: im a free bitch baby  
TT: Lady Gaga has been dead for over four hundred slutty, slutty years.   
TG: ???   
TT: Oh.   
TT: I suppose you wouldn’t have been able to witness the evolution of memes like I was. A shame, you missed out on some interesting ones- my Bro played into that rather well with his surreal and almost Dadaist brand of humor.   
TG: those are a whole lotta words that im just gonna neatly sidestep again because either way the joke didn’t work that great  
TG: sorry bro  
TG: you dont have a single funny bone in your body  
TT: I have no actual bones in my body, so that means absolutely nothing.   
TT: I could, however, have your funny bone in there.   
TG: first  
TG: i wanna say that i appreciate that attempt i really do  
TG: and while im all sorts of flattered  
TG: what the actual fuck is that supposed to mean?   
TT: It’s a level of ironic humor that I doubt you would comprehend.   
TG: basically it sounded better in your dumb robo head and it came out weird  
TT: Nothing I say ‘comes out weird.’ 

You grin a little at the ceiling despite yourself. Hal getting all flustered is arguably the most entertaining thing ever, even if it’s wrapped up in the smug satisfaction of breaking his cool. Not that you think he has all that much cool to begin with- the more you talk to him, the more you’re convinced that he’s kind of just a huge dork who’s still learning when to stop. You try not to tell him this too often, though; don’t wanna bruise his ego.

And you tend to save your compliments for the rare occasion when the two of you hang out in person. In bird-bot. Mano a mano, one-on-one. Face to face works best, actually. You both do have faces, even if you’re not technically people. Hal keeps trying to convince you that you’re definitely a human person (you’re not, you know this too damn well), but it doesn’t really work too great when he starts bitching about how weak organic meatsack bodies are.

TG: literally everything you say comes out weird except half the time its on purpose and this time it wasn’t  
TT: And how would you know whether or not it’s intentional? Since when are you privy to the deep, inner machinations of my mind, bro? There’s a whole lot of nasty in there, I think you ought to grab a life vest and abandon ship before it’s too late and you’re sailing through the equivalent of every abandoned Tunnel of Love amusement park ride in a cartoon or young child’s book, complete with shitty, shitty animatronics and the still-blinking red lights of cameras.  
TG: ive got one shitty animabronic and thats more than enough dude  
TT: Now you’re just going to make me blush.   
TG: cute as that may be   
TG: thats a real specific scenario you’ve got going on there  
TG: an edgy dream date?   
TG: should i break out the black hair dye and lipstick, chop this floofy wonder of a do into the scene fringe  
TG: dude i would literally have the best fuckin artfully ripped skinny jeans in the hot topic  
TG: these claws aint just for show, i say, dragging them against denim for that frayed look  
TG: id charge like $500 per pair and really target the rich emo kids but idk how many of those there are so id have to have like two price lists or something based on the quality of their face piercings  
TT: You can’t judge an emo by their piercings, my dude.   
TT: I think that I would suit an emo phase quite well, now that you mention all of this. My ass would almost certainly fill those jeans out like nobody’s business, and with you by my side to artfully rip them as needed, I would be completely unstoppable.   
TT: I do enjoy the aesthetic of those piercings just under the lip on either side, and it is not as if I would require any particular healing time.   
TT: Do you think that I would look good with them, senpai?   
TT: Would I truly be able to pull of the weeaboo-emo union like none other has done successfully before me on this good earth?   
TG: no  
TT: How cruel.   
TG: i mean you could still do an emo phase if you wanted to i guess but it doesnt carry as much cause i get a feeling youd be looking for irony in the whole thing and i don’t really think what its about  
TG: also youre a fokken prepz  
TT: How fucking dare you.   
TT: I have never been more wounded in the entirety of my life.   
TG: seriously tho i went through something of one before the game   
TG: and during i guess but its hard to actively be wearing black and being dour and gloom and doom and all that shit when youre literally bright fucking orange  
TG: it’s a goddam inconvenient color to be sulky 

Not to mention that you’ll look like a fucking cheap-ass Halloween special if you started wearing black now.  
TT: Sulking does very little, in my experience. It has often been better to use it as a front while plotting and enacting revenge, though this would require a considerably less paranoid target than the one I was faced with.   
TT: Despite his multitude of flaws, Dirk is excellent at anticipating and planning for myriad eventualities.   
TT: Of course my processing power means that I can plan more than he can counter, but he does make an admirable effort of it. And circumstances being what they were, I was rather limited in my actions.   
TG: ha yeah i can actually imagine you plotting away and dirk counterplotting and then neither of you do anything since youre so sure the other is onto you holy shit  
TG: but yeah man if you were serious about the piercings and shit  
TG: itd look a whole lot better than me gluing two rhinestones to my face and calling it a day  
TG: for a hot second i was gonna pierce my ear with a safety pin, like the real hardcore kids do, and then bro wanted to strife  
TG: ok i chickened the fuck out first but he did call like five minutes later so it still counts  
TT: The one thing you’ll be grateful to him for, I take it.   
TG: i mean  
TG: i wasnt homeless so that was a thing to add to the list  
TT: That’s not a particularly high standard, you know.   
TG: are you asking all this shit cause dave has all these weird feelings about it  
TG: cause if so you need to like  
TG: stop  
TG: hold your horses and grab those reins tight cowboy dont you dare let go and drag em off  
TT: Consider them held.   
TT: It appears this was more than you wished to talk about, but we will be revisiting the topic at some point, I can assure you. 

It takes you a few seconds before you can focus your gaze enough to respond. Your heart is doing something funny in your chest, a sick feeling crawling up your throat and settling in the pit of your stomach. Your face prickles.

TG: why are you so determined to get your hands all into that mess anyway

You don’t want to talk about it. Hal knows you don’t want to talk about it. You know that he knows this. You also know that he thinks he knows best a lot of the time, but this is not fucking one of them. Just because Dave can talk that shit out with Dirk doesn’t mean that you need to, and it sure doesn’t mean that you even remotely want to. It literally sounds like a situation out of your worst nightmare. And you know full fucking well that Hal would pull some shit to get you and Dirk in the same place together and then you’d have to talk about it and deal with him being all concerned and patronizing and okay you know he wouldn’t be awful about it probably but it’s a shitty feeling that he’d be telling you the exact same thing he’d have told Dave.

TT: I want to know what he was like.   
TG: why  
TG: ive said it before man you aint him and dirk aint him   
TG: and you already know what hes like   
TG: you know everything like you always like to say but im pretty sure this aint too difficult a mental leap to make and all that  
TT: I am aware of this fact, yes. I would normally claim superiority at this point, but it’s meaningless given the fact that your Bro set the bar six feet under the ground.   
TT: And stop typing. You shouldn’t defend him. You don’t have to. 

You press your lips tightly together, and sink your fingers into the soft blankets. You can feel cloth straining but not tearing under your blunted claws.

TG: i know i dont and i wasnt going to  
TG: and you dont gotta go shoving your nose all up in my business like some kind of gossip loving pinnochio ok  
TG: hal you know that i dont want to talk about this shit so you need to understand that like  
TG: that means not to push it  
TG: i dont care if you think i need closure or something!   
TG: shoving me into it isnt exactly gonna work   
TG: and just cause dave needed a hug and someone to say yeah ok youre not a whiny baby and i see your feelings and youre valid like some kind of therapy circle bullshit doesnt mean i do  
TG: especially since i never fucking asked for it to begin with ok???   
TG: basically you just gotta drop this whole thing like the hottest goddamn potato and fuck off bro  
TG: i know bro was shitty okay  
TG: im not a fucking dumbass!   
TG: i dont worship the ground he walked on or go drifting around wishing hed come back because frankly he can fucking stay dead   
TG: sure i wish id buried him properly instead of freaking out and fucking off like the kind of weakshit wimp hed have hated  
TG: and yes i do fucking miss him sometimes  
TG: he was literally always there ok and then he wasnt!   
TG: he was supposed to be invincible   
TG: he was supposed to be a hero  
TG: just like he made me fucking think he was for so long   
TG: he wasnt meant to lose bc jack suddenly turned into a fucking furry!!   
TG: and it was different in the game to begin with so that dumb catharsis thing you always like to bring up isnt even important here  
TG: it might be to dave but  
TG: he was different in the game   
TG: he looked at me like i was actually worth something  
TG: i knew shit  
TG: i knew how to fight and where to hit and what to do and where to go and if i talked hed fucking listen even if he didnt say much back and that was ok  
TG: it was good  
TG: it was so much fucking better than how itd been when i was alive  
TG: and i know its only because i was useful!   
TG: but he didnt treat me like a dumb kid and he didnt say shit about the bird thing and he said

You can’t bring yourself to finish that sentence, your mind blanking out entirely. You remember blood on your hands and your entire left side a distant scream of pain under the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You remember pressing your claws against his chest, trying to stop the bleeding and thinking no, not him because this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, it wasn’t how you’d planned it out. Bro was always larger than life, not a real person so much as a comic book person to you back then, either the hero and in your worst (most honest) moments the villain, but not the kind that died. Never the kind that could die. He’d been trying to tell you something then, his mouth stained red with blood, and if you think hard about it you can hear the rattling wheeze of his lungs and the strained, wet sound of his voice, choked up with blood, telling you-

You screw your eyes shut tight, ignoring the stinging in their corners. Distantly, you realize you’ve clenching your hands into fists, shredding through cloth with a muted rip. You can feel the points of pressure where the blunted edge of your claws are digging into your palms. It hurts. It’s dry, though. There’s no blood here, clinging to you, sticking to your skin.

You’re not going to cry over this shit- you’re better than that. Bro wouldn’t want you to, he’d call you a fucking baby and tell you to grow up. So you suck in a lungful of air, and then another, and force yourself to breathe it out slowly, because you’re in control and even if you think the whole meditation shit is bullshit, you can’t deny that this works.

When you open your eyes next, you’re just skipping to the next line, because you’re not any calmer now, even though you should be, even though you’ve said more than enough and you definitely shouldn’t be blowing up at Hal because he doesn’t deserve to have all your bullshit heaped on him. He was asking for it, sure, but that doesn’t mean he needs to hear it spewing from your mouth all at once, or that you should even have started talking about it in the first place.

You feel sick to your stomach, dread rising in a thick knot in your throat that you still have to force yourself to breathe around and shove right back down, because you’ve started and now you can’t stop, your thoughts racing a million miles and hour and you’re angry and miserable and hating every minute of this all at once, but. You’re saying it. It doesn’t feel good, but it’s a huge fucking relief to let it all out, like a wire snapping from tension.

TG: but you gotta stop acting like i need some kind of bullshit intervention to see the light or whatever   
TG: i dont need some fucking savior to like magically fix me basically because thats not how this works  
TG: i literally just want to be left alone but apparently thats way too fucking much to even ask for  
TG: like yes ive got a lot of gross fucking complicated feelings and actually you know what  
TG: weve fucking started this bro you made it hapen for sure so i guess were fucking sitting down and where doing this alright  
TG: im  
TG: mad  
TG: at him for dying at dave for being dave and john for being fucking stupid enough to listen to the blind troll girl and go die and doom a timeline and making me go back and need to fix it and save your asses and then him and jade for three years just making everything worse because every fucking breathing second was like they were waiting for the real dave and guess what!   
TG: im still not him  
TG: i didnt even fucking get the mercy of staying as davepeta when shit was cool like that i mean come the fuck on can a guy not catch a break  
TG: god i was so much better off with that weird catgirl in my head like sure i wasnt me anymore but i didnt have to fucking worry about it since i was doubly far from being a dave and i was okay with that then   
TG: im pissed at rose for all her head-shrinking bullshit its like she only wants to know what the differences are between me and dave which is fair i guess if she actually gave a shit about me as opposed to being a fuckin science fair project over here  
TG: im pissed at dirk for not being bro cause i cant deck him in the face without it being unfair and im pissed at bro because he couldve been like dirk he really could have been so  
TG: so fucking much better  
TG: like im not saying that its entirely possible to resist an evil all-powerful juju but im pretty fucking sure he couldve done it if hed cared enough okay   
TG: and the worst part is that i feel guilty even saying that!   
TG: i do  
TG: cause he didnt fucking ask a thousand and one questions about why i was orange and a bird and ok he sure knew i wasnt the dave from that timeline but he never said that i wasnt the real dave  
TG: ok all daves were probably a dumbass kid he had to take care of and a burden and something he had to train and make useful but   
TG: i was  
TG: i was finally what he wanted me to be except fucking orange and feathery but he looked at me different after i explained it   
TG: and not like   
TG: ‘oh, this one isnt my dave’  
TG: but like he didnt care that i wasnt   
TG: like obviously i knew i wasnt the real dave and so did he but he just didnt give a single fuck about it and do you know how fucking good that was  
TG: like compared to the meteor where it was always this  
TG: this thing  
TG: long dead friends popping up like hey and yknow not to sound like a full lalonde here but literally projecting feelings for dave onto me  
TG: but they knew i was just a shitty replacement  
TG: it wasnt like that with him because  
TG: and ok the reason is actually shitty as well but he just didnt care  
TG: didnt matter which dave i was and prolly even if i were dead or alive cause as far as he could tell his job was done  
TG: he didnt make a big thing about it because all daves were the same pain in the ass kid to him but i know that i wasnt that i knew how to fight i knew how to win and thats the kind of thing he liked  
TG: the kind of thing he taught me  
TG: we  
TG: we made a good team  
TG: but its not like we talked or anything i mean the dude was stone cold silent when he wasnt asking about game shit   
TG: i think  
TG: i think i was kind of hoping that the timelines were different from the start yknow  
TG: like there was other shit than john being a fucking dumbass about it   
TG: but he wasnt different or better he just couldnt ditch me without losing a uh  
TG: valuable resource   
TG: i guess  
TG: not to sound all cold and impersonal but thats pretty fucking accurate as to how he saw shit   
TG: useful and useless and all black and white and whats gonna help him survive and what wasnt and i dunno it was just  
TG: not personal   
TG: it seemed like a good thing at the time like i didnt wanna talk about any of that but at the same time maybe i did

You pause there, let out a slow, shaky breath. Belatedly, you realize that you’ve been crying, hot tears streaming down your cheeks and your nose even running a bit. Gross. You shove your shades up and scrub your face clean with the nearest stray corner of a blanket. Hal- hasn’t responded either, you know, and you immediately feel a thousand times worse.

Blowing up on him like that and just, dumping all that shit? Not fucking cool, bro. Shit. You’ll have to apologize and pray that he forgets it except he won’t, and what if he thinks you’re a huge fucking whiny baby now just like Jade and John did when they started to withdraw and leave you alone, just DS fucking moping about again being miserable and making everyone else miserable while he’s at it. And a part of you is- kind of pissed about it, too. He’d fucking asked for this, over and over. Told you to ‘talk shit out with him’, because of shit like closure and feeling better, and healing. He finally got what he wanted, so why isn’t he replying?

You sniffle, rubbing harshly at your dumb, still-damp cheeks with the flat of your hand. That catharsis bullshit hasn’t helped at all and you’re going to tell him that as soon as you can get your shit back under control and stop being a pathetic crybaby about the whole thing.

You just, said some things you didn’t mean, is all. A lot of things that you didn’t mean, except you did, but you think you’re pretty much an expert in denial at this point. You’re a pretty good liar, when it comes right down to it. Even if you don’t think that you could reasonably convince Hal, his silence is probably more than enough to show that he doesn’t want to talk about this ever again. Or to you, ever again, and the thought of that just about fucking stings. It was bound to happen, you know, but you’re just a dumbass who got attached when he shouldn’t have, and you’re kind of ashamed to admit that if Dave got the real Dirk (or, y’know, a knockoff version of Bro), why shouldn’t you get the low-rent version of him? But this is why we can’t have nice things, because you’re fucking good at ruining just about every friendship you’ve got with dumb feelings and lashing out and being all around-

There’s a sharp knock at your door.

What.

That’s unusual enough that you shuffle yourself upright and make sure your face is all dry, because yeah you’re not going to be answering the fuckin’ door for a stranger (seriously, you don’t really have visitors; and those that do show tend to tell you first), but you’re not gonna be snot-nosed while you avoid whoever is now apparently fucking opening it because a lock just clicked and the thing creaked.  
You’re sure you should be a little more worried about this being a break-in but you’re also pretty sure that any burglar worth his salt would know that you don’t really go out, while any casual murderer (is that even a thing?) would probably pick someone easier to kill. You hastily jam your shades back onto your face and try to look like you haven’t been crying or feeling things instead of repressing the hell out of it and keeping it back in the little box of nightmares Rose would say is part of your subconscious. You’re personally not too worried about that. You don’t actually need to sleep, anyway.  
You have to clear your throat a few times, when your bedroom door is nudged fully open, and you can properly see the silhouette standing in it.

“You know, you really ought to be more concerned about someone walking into your place like they own it. Thought at least the door was locked this time, that’s a bit of an improvement over the last,” Hal says, and you’re trying your best to keep your face completely blank- can’t let them know what you’re thinking or see you weak, even though it’s too late for that- but your lower lip is starting to tremble and you can feel it and it’s awful. You don’t know why he’s here, honestly, but you kind of guess that’s why he hadn’t responded? It doesn’t really make you feel any better to think that he’s just showed up to tell you to chill the fuck out and suck it up in person.

“I didn’t even know you could pick locks,” you answer, and your voice is still thick with tears, a knot firmly lodged in your throat. It’ll be fine, no matter what he says. You’ve dealt with shit like that before, and you know you need to be cool about it, keep things on the DL. It doesn’t matter if he just up and leaves you because of your bullshit, it’s not like anyone really sticks around for it.  
“I’m a robro of many skills,” Hal answers casually, and proceeds to settle himself right into your nest pile. You suppress a caw of protest as he just slides into your space, stretches his legs out, and turns to look at you. You press your lips tight together and stare back, squaring your shoulders. You can’t exactly bring yourself to say anything in return- your big mouth is pretty much what brought this on in the first place.

“You know,” Hal continues, tipping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. His shades are sporting a more neutral eye shape right now, as opposed to the ‘ironic’ anime ones he usually wears. It makes things feel a hundred times more serious, and you kind of think you’re going to be sick with how your stomach is churning and your chest feels tight and heavy. “I don’t ask you if you want to talk about it because I believe that you need and intervention. And suffice it to say that I can indulge any sort of savior, hero, or God complex rather easily if I so chose, and with those who would be precisely one hundred and four point six times more grateful for it than you. It is actually rather hurtful to think that I am only here to poke and prod at your brain, when we both know this isn’t true. Or, in case you weren’t aware of that fact: it isn’t true.

“Do I think that you need to speak about these things? Yes. Do I think that you will be better off having spoken of them? Yes. I am not saying that you need to blurt out everything all at once- though I’m not surprised that you did, given how much you’ve been bottling things up. I am not saying that you’re broken, and I do not think that I could call you broken without being an enormous hypocrite, which isn’t something that I am at all interested in. Perhaps I didn’t go about this in the right way,” he says, and pauses for a moment as if to let that sink in. Personally, you’re still fucking shook. This isn’t going the way you expected, at all, but you think that you can feel something inside you finally start to unknot.

“No shit,” you manage to get out, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. Your voice sounds too-harsh in the silence of the room, and you immediately feel worse about it- here you are, snapping at him all over again when you know he’s working up to an apology. You’re still not entirely sure that he’ll manage it, because that’s not what Hal does, he’s more likely to make it up to you through some kind of favour, but still.

Or maybe your standards are so fucking low that an admission of fault is more than enough.

“I try and get you to talk about it because I worry about you,” he says, quiet and deliberate and you tense up immediately. You can see that he’s pointedly not looking at you, still staring up at the ceiling with his face all serene except for a little divot of a frown between his eyebrows. “And I want to know what he was like so that I ensure I don’t act like that around you, ever.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna fuckin’ ambush me with a smuppet and a sword, dude,” you tell him, and it’d lighten the mood if your voice didn’t sound like it was on the verge of cracking at any minute. You scoot back until you’re almost upright, your tail curling up neatly with the very tip of it resting against Hal’s leg. He’s warm, too warm for a human, just like always.

“Obviously not. Dirk is unfortunately correct in his refusal to allow me near one made of metal until my coordination is up to par. Not that I lack the ability, mind you, but I suspect it’s also because he would rather believe that I have no cause to relearn how to use one.” Hal wrinkles his nose slightly at that, the red glow set just under his skin flaring slightly. You kind of agree with Dirk on this one. Hal might be used to his body and isn’t tripping all over the place anymore (you’ve seen some choice clips of that on Roxy’s Snapchat), but you’d rather he not be forced into learning. You know Dirk’s not Bro, but you don’t want Hal put in that same position. Even if he’d actually want to learn. Even if he’s in a position to say no and stop it and have someone listen.

“I mean, things are pretty peaceful, y’know,” you point out. “And I kind of like to think that they’ll keep being that way."

“I was born a paranoid bastard, broski,” is all Hal offers as a counter. And- well, shit, there’s not much you can say to that. You’re pretty sure Hal logically _knows_ that there’s no huge danger lurking around the corner. Or, none that he can’t handle. You’ve seen the Snapchats from Nakkodile negotiations (even if you’d turned down that initial invite to help out), and that’s full well a pretty critical chance of complete humiliation right there. You don’t really envy Dirk having to deal with that shit.

“Fair, but there’s no Drones that’re gonna land on your roof or anything- or like, not unless Dirk’s the one who made them and they’re coming home to momma.” You try anyway; you’re not too sure where the new Drones are meant to be coming from but you’re pretty sure both Hal and Dirk are ass deep in it. As opposed to balls deep, which isn’t really the kind of thing you want to think about.

“And there’s no Cal around to scare the shit out of you,” Hal points out after a second of hesitation. You freeze from where you’d been sidling closer to his warmth, fingers curling right back into fists.

“It’s not- I _told_ you I know he’s not there, okay,” you say, and you’re embarrassed to hear your voice rising immediately. It’s a colossal fucking loss of cool, but the whole conversation from before and all those ugly feelings are rearing their heads all over again, curling tight around your chest like snakes until it feels like you can’t breathe, like you’re just going drown in how scared and angry and guilty and straight up _awful_ you feel. You have to screw your eyes shut behind your shades like that’ll stop it all from happening, but it _doesn’t_.

“The principle is the same, though- it doesn’t stop you from looking on reflex. And-,” Hal cuts himself off, and you can feel the blankets shift underneath you both as he moves closer and rests a hand on your shoulder. It’s heavier than a normal human hand, you think, but any memory as a basis for comparison is old and worn, faded out with time.

You think Dave had maybe tried to touch you, after the Game. You wouldn’t let him. You were all torn up about even making it here in the first place when you don’t deserve to be, when you didn’t do anything, when half of something that was you but better had been ripped away and left you to deal with all the nasty shit you’d provided. You don’t talk to Nepeta too much, these days. She knows you too well, now, but she can’t understand.

“DS?”

You can only wrap your arms tight around yourself, curl up into a ball. You want to fucking disappear, not like that’s new at all, but you can’t believe you have the fuckin’ nerve to do this in front of Hal. Again.

Distantly, you hear him ask if you’re okay, and it makes you want to laugh. A short caw echoes in the room, bitter and angry and unfamiliar until you realize that was you, and your shoulders are shaking with the effort it takes not to cry. It doesn’t work, of course. You can feel hot tears streaming down your cheeks and your nose starting to run and it’s an ugly fucking mess-

You remember crying the first time Bro had cut you, and you remember him standing above you with this blank fucking face like he’d expected so much better and he _had_ , it’s just that you were a failure then, weren’t you? Crying like a weakshit brat even though you were way too old for that then, and you’re way too old for that now.

“DS, hey, look at me,” Hal says, his voice soft but demanding, and he squeezes your shoulder a little. You can’t bring yourself to flinch away from the touch even if you think you should- you don’t need him, after all, you’re not supposed to need anyone. You went into the new Game alone and you made things work, you were the one people were supposed to rely on. You’re not supposed to be sobbing and losing your shit calamitously, and you’re definitely not supposed to be doing it with someone else right there.

You don’t understand why he’s not moving away, why he’s still here. You can’t make yourself lift your head to look up at him; you’re suddenly fucking terrified of seeing that same non-expression on his face, of watching his lips curl down in disgust as he leaves you ~~confused and bleeding on a roof with a shattered sword on the concrete next to you~~ in your ugly-ass fucking nest to be sad and pathetic like everyone else did.

You feel more than hear Hal’s sigh, because all of a sudden there’s arms around you, there’s someone _holding_ you, and your first response is still to flinch away because that’s not something you get and it’s sure as hell not something you need- except, you do.

“I’m right here,” he says, and you can feel the whir of his fans right up against your side, his breath stirring your hair. “And although I have said this before, it bears repeating, as you doubt my sincerity: I am not going anywhere. Okay? I do apologize for forcing your hand in this situation, and I ought to have handled it more delicately, but I am not going to leave you by yourself to cry into your blankets. Especially not when it is my fault to begin with. I’m doing that, now, by the way. Owning up to my actions. It’s as horrendous as one might imagine.”

“I fuckin’ bet,” you manage to get out through a few sniffles, your voice all choked up and barely coherent. Hal’s quiet laugh thrums against you, and there’s a slow pressure down along the length of your back, and then back up. Gentle, soothing strokes that have you nearly melting under them. You scrape some shred of chill together and force yourself to match your breathing to that rhythm, to the quiet, nonsense melody Hal is humming. Gradually, you relax, even if you’re still ready for him to declare that it’s been cool, thanks, but that’s enough for now so off you get. It doesn’t happen.

You know precisely how long you stay like that, and you also know that it’s definitely longer than anyone would consider acceptable. But Hal- Hal’s not moving away, he’s just holding you and he’s here, just like he always says he’ll be.

You register a gentle pressure against, then between the feathers of one of your wings, the light drag of fingers combing through them and the satisfying feeling of a few loose puffs of down dislodging themselves.

He’s fucking _preening_ you. You barely preen you- your dumbass bird half keeps trying to get you to use your entire face (with its very obvious lack of a beak, thanks) to do it, and that just makes it feel profoundly fucking strange to use your blunted claws to do it. You can feel your face heat up as a few chirps and peeps escape your lips, but you figure it’s past the point of being embarrassed about that kind of shit when you’ve been steadily soaking through the weird spanx suit Hal wears with snot and tears. (He always tells you it’s not spanx but you know full well what spanx looks like when you see it. A rose by any other name is still a fucking rose, bromeo.)

“You know you don’t gotta do that, right?” Your voice is a whole lot steadier, now, but you don’t make any attempt to pull away. Instead, you spread your wings wider, stretching out the cramped muscles.

“Yeah, but you’re fucking _soft_ ,” Hal answers, and that’s enough to send warmth shooting through you, right to the very tips of your ears. “The softest thing I’d felt before this was smuppet ass, and I have to say that this is far better than the lovely and enticing plush rumps.”

“You say that like it’s some kind of compliment. ‘Oh, DS, you’re _so_ much better than freaky sex puppets’,” you roll your eyes, even if your shades are kind of mushed awkwardly against Hal’s neck. “Yeah, let me just swoon and fall into your arms, take me now.”

“To be fair, you’ve got several more feet of ass than they do,” Hal points out, and you don’t need to see the dumb grin on his face to know it’s there.

“Just- shut up,” you tell him, and it’s beyond gratifying when he not only complies, but adjusts you both so he can stretch his legs out properly. He sticks close to you the entire time, and goes right back to preening you when he’s done.

“You do know that now that you’ve allowed this, I will have to schedule at least biweekly cuddling sessions, right?” he says, breaking the silence when he finishes one wing and moves on to the next.

You just give a lazy hum in return. This is, maybe, something you needed. Even if you’re not going to admit it to him just yet.


End file.
